


The First Night

by TriDom



Series: The Kit [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fox!Stiles, M/M, Mild Angst, Stiles is a shifter, full shift wolves, lots of fluff, werewolf!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8459125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: Sometimes Peter doesn't think about his actions very well. Like shifting into a wolf to comfort Stiles after finding him in his and Chris's trap hunting trap.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the first part of this series would help.

When Peter woke up, he moved toward the warmth of Chris’s back, sliding his arm over his side and scenting the curve of his neck. The faint scent of something earthy and not quite familiar pulled him farther from sleep until he was sitting up, patting along the blankets feeling for the kit. It was asleep near his head when they all went to bed, but that was over four hours before.

Peter pushed out of bed, pulling the blanket back over Chris before he left the bedroom. The smell of the fox was still strong in the bedroom. It was fainter in the hallway, but seemed fresher as he went down the hall to the living room.

The kitchen light had been left on. It seeped into the small living room, glowing on the blank TV screen. Peter looked over the peninsula and nearly looked away before spotting the slightly different shade of gray against the strands of the mop Chris had left by the back door.

The kit was curled close to it. It was so small, so curled on itself that it looked like a ball.

Peter stripped out of his underwear and inhaled deeply, pulling his shift up and letting it alter his body until he was on four legs instead of two. If the kit was looking for fur-like things to cuddle then he could help with that. Peter went across the kitchen, nuzzling the fox’s back. It was still so incredibly small. When he licked it, his tongue covered the width of its ribcage.

The fox perked his ears before he looked back at Peter. Then he startled backward with a lip-curling snarl. Peter took a step closer, wanting to nuzzle, show how little of a threat he was, but the fox only backed up farther, knocking over the mop.

Peter went forward until the fox was backed into the corner of the wall and the trashcan. He nuzzled his small chest. He could hear his heart beating like a hummingbird’s. Peter laid down to be at its eye-level. The fox’s small dark eyes stared into his until it turned and clawed at the wall like it could climb it.

Peter nosed it, giving short small licks.

If he wanted to eat it, he would’ve. He waited for the fox to realize that too and to calm down. Eventually, under Peter occasionally nosing and licking, the fox stopped clawing at the wall and curled tightly in on itself, not meeting his eyes.

Peter took that as affirmation enough that the kit had calmed down before he picked it up to take it back to bed. It hung from his mouth limply, another good sign. When he reached the bedroom, he tightened his jaw slightly and jumped on the bed.

Chris looked over his shoulder at the impact before he started to roll away. Then he frowned, looking down.

“Why is my hand wet?” Chris asked before his eyes cleared and he looked at the fox. “Jesus fucking Christ, Peter,” he said, sitting up and taking the fox out of his mouth. “He just pissed himself.”

The fox clawed against Chris’s chest until Chris held him beneath his neck, where it could hide its face. Peter felt his ears dip. He tried to move closer and Chris got off the bed.

“His mom was just killed by coyotes,” Chris said, stripping the bedding one handed, using the other to keep the fox against his chest. “Get down. Take these to the dirty clothes.”

Peter jumped down. It took him a moment to shift and when he did, he was took the sheets Chris pushed against his chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare him.”

“Well he’s shaking,” Chris said, “And covered in piss.”

Peter followed him out of the room, passed the bathroom, where Chris went, and into the laundry room. He tossed the sheets in and started them with laundry detergent and softener. In the bathroom, he heard the sink turn on and Chris mumbling. He grabbed a towel from the clean basket and stood in the bathroom doorway, watching Chris wash the fox’s feet and belly before he took the towel and started to dry him.

“He’s nice,” Chris said, holding him in front of his face. “He’s not going to eat you. He’s just stupid and thinks with his dog brain.”

The kit stared at him with its small dark eyes. At least its ears were up.

“He was cuddling the mop. I thought he would be more comfortable against something with fur.”

“It isn’t like you meant to scare him,” Chris said, rolling his tired eyes before he pulled Peter forward and kissed his forehead. “Put sheets on the bed. I’ll get him some formula.”

“Okay,” Peter said, petting the fox’s head with two fingers.

As Chris went down the hall toward the kitchen, Peter went the other way to the closet taking out new sheets. In the bedroom, he checked the comforter, made sure it was clean before he piled it on the floor and spread the fitted sheet, having to twist it around. By the time it was on and the bed was made again, Chris was coming back into the room, holding the fox against his chest with the small bottle Deaton had given them in his hand.

The fox was nursing with his small dark-nailed paws on the bottle top. He drank like he hadn’t eaten in days. Then again, before they had fed him earlier this evening he probably hadn’t eaten in days.

Peter held out his hands and Chris shifted, letting Peter take the fox from him. He sat on the bed, stacking his pillow against the headboard. The fox wasn’t afraid of him now. He hadn’t seemed to be afraid of them since they brought him home and gave watered down whole milk to hold him over until they contacted Deaton.  

“Pretty fox,” Peter said, quietly, running two fingers down the dark line of fur on its back.

“If we’re going to keep him he needs a name,” Chris said, laying on the other side of the bed, watching them.

“He looks like a Doug.”

Chris huffed a laugh, propping his head on his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Miles.”

“No I immediately go Davis and that would end up being his nickname. You’d call him Miley and I don’t to hear that.”

Peter stared down at the fox’s face, his small eyes getting heavier and heavier until he felt him stop drinking. Peter slowly took the bottle from his mouth, pulling the blankets over them so he could keep them both warm.

“I like Stiles.”

“Stiles?” Chris asked.

“Mhm.”

Chris nodded. “It works.”

“Do you think if I snuck it on him, he’d be better?” Peter asked, looking at Chris. “He’s small. He’s furry. It has to feel better to be against something furry.”

“I can already see you thinking about it, just make sure he’s asleep when you do it, and you don’t crush him,” Chris said, pulling the blankets up to his own shoulder. When he rolled over, Peter flipped off the lamp on the bedside table and waited. He could hear the fox’s, Stiles’s, faint heartbeat against his ribs, hear it in his over-sensitized ears.

When he had been asleep for almost fifteen minutes, he gently laid Stiles on the sheets beside him. He pulled up the shift, let it roll through his body, until he was completely furred. He nosed Stiles, waited, to see if he would wake up before he scooted closer, fitting his balled up body against the crook of his neck.

Stiles moved, stretched, clenching in on himself, never waking up. Peter stayed as still as possible for a long time until sleep finally swallowed him too.


End file.
